by Nancy Gideon
Kaz Zanlos had asked for an ancient tomb, and his architect had more than delivered.
When the echoing silence of the halls was replaced by the chattering, nervous energy of the showgirls inside the cavernous hall, Naomi's comfort level returned to normal. She paused just inside the door to watch, an almost maternal smile etching her lips. Like a bunch of gangly, gorgeous kids, the young women struggled to work through an elaborate dance number while their choreographer hurled orders and insults.
"'Evening, Miss Bright."
Without a side glance of acknowledgment, she replied, “They're looking much better, don't you think, Marcus?"
A snort. “If you say so. I'm making book on which breaks first, the girls or Miss Gestapo."
Naomi's smile crept out unbidden. “Marcus, Miss Parsons is only doing her job."
"Some job. I'd rather take on dog or monkey training than try to get that lot to stay in line."
"Don't be mean, Marcus."
But in spite of her remark and despite his position as bouncer, she didn't believe Marcus Sinclair had a mean bone in his body. Most said he hadn't a brain in his head, but Naomi didn't think that was true, either. He was a huge, industrial-sized Dumpster of a man with a closely cropped head seeming to grow right out of bulging shoulders. His black-eyed glare and the way the light glinted off the sharply hewn mounds of muscle in his frequently bared and deeply browned arms was enough to intimate all but the most stalwart ... or stupid. Rumored to be part Samoan, he fit nicely into the exotic stylings of the hotel, missing only a loincloth and feathered headdress. Instead, he favored Armani tailored slacks. Hired for his bulk and brawn, he had no real need to show off his intellect. He was there to threaten outsiders with mere presence and to dictate order by virtue of booming voice and bulging biceps. But with Naomi, he was more gentle and awkward mastiff than snarling pit bull. As unlikely as it would seem, Marcus Sinclair was one of the few people with whom she felt completely at ease.
They stood side-by-side in companionable silence at the back of the empty auditorium. His mammoth size dwarfed her like a Clydesdale next to a dainty gazelle, but oddly enough, when Kitty Parsons turned her acerbic tongue to him, it was Naomi who bristled protectively.
"Marcus, you dumb hulk, how many times do I have to tell you to keep those photographers out of here?"
"Sorry, Miss Parsons,” he rumbled. With an apologetic nod toward Naomi, he lumbered around the back of the hall to chase off the bold newsmen who'd managed to sneak in for a peak at Vegas's most hush hush revue.
The choreographer unwittingly broke the concentration of her girls by bringing Marcus and Naomi to their attention. Once the petite assistant manager was spotted, there was no bringing them back to heel. Like exuberant pups, they bounded off the stage to swarm around Naomi.
"Miss Bright, what do you think of my new hair color? Is it too orange? I was trying for copper penny, and I think I ended up with glazed carrot."
"Naomi, has Mr. Zanlos said anything about getting my boyfriend a job in the kitchen yet?"
"What did you think of my kick? I've been working on it all week."
"Naomi, would you say something to Mr. Zanlos about our schedule? How's a girl supposed to have any kind of life with the hours he makes us keep?"
"Could you get Miss Kitty Kat to pull in her claws? We can't learn a routine when she has us all raw and bleeding."
One at a time, Naomi patiently addressed the questions as if she were dealing with a gaggle of girls instead of with women who were mostly the same age.
"It looks vibrant, Molly. Newly minted. Have Jack come in for an interview, Jeannie. We're taking on staff at the end of the week. Grace, you put Jackie Chan to shame. Marty, Mr. Zanlos wants you to get your beauty rest, and about Miss Kitty..."
"She's too old to get declawed."
All the girls snickered at the spiteful comment, and even Naomi had to smile. She felt like a den mother to the young dancers and was amazed that they turned to her for advice so readily when her own experience with life was more limited than the most sheltered of their group. Each and every one of them was dear to her and, sensing her fondness, they responded with unconditional devotion and oftentimes an embarrassing honesty when it came to their own escapades. Naomi listened and empathized and consoled, and that was why they came to her with both problems and accomplishments. Perhaps, Naomi thought with a ruthless honesty of her own, it was because they felt no threat when they were with her. None would worry about competition from Naomi Bright, the quiet, librarianish assistant who was tap water next to their vivacious spray of uncorked champagne.
But Naomi loved them too much to let it matter.
They were her family.
"Miss Bright, if you are quite through interrupting, we have a lot of work to do."
Naomi stepped in front of the suddenly cowering show girls, a mother hen fully ruffled. Though her voice was pitched low and soft, the authority behind her words was unmistakable.
"If you push them too hard, you increase the risk of injury and none of the girls is replaceable this close to our opening. Mr. Zanlos wouldn't approve of slave driving, Miss Parsons. Besides, I thought they looked marvelous. You've done a wonderful job.” That last remark took the sting from what came before it and gave the ruthless choreographer permission to back down.
"All right girls, take a short break. I mean short."
Naomi withstood their squeally hugs then, when the girls had scattered in search of cigarettes or other forbidden pleasures, she was left to face Kitty Parsons. She was a cool ice sculpture with a stare that froze on contact.
"I don't appreciate your undermining influence.” It was hardly a purr. “I'll have to speak to Mr. Zanlos about it."
"Perhaps you've forgotten that I speak for Mr. Zanlos. For him and to him about things I don't approve of. And though I admire your skill, I can't say I like your methods. If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a bully.” The quiet reproof efficiently put the overbearing woman in her place.
"I get the job done, Miss Bright. That's why I was hired."
"Hired. Fired. Just a simple change of consonants."
And with that, she turned her back on the seething choreographer, pretending not to feel the virtual daggers the woman thrust into her back as she left the room.
* * * *
"She's amazing, isn't she?"
Kaz Zanlos didn't respond to the comment right away. He watched his assistant through the one-way glass from their high up overview of the auditorium. Finally, he had to agree.
"Yes. She is very efficient. And invaluable to me."
A lusty chuckle. “In what ways?"
"In all ways. And it would upset me greatly if that were to change for any reason."
"I will not interfere there. At least, not yet. Not unless she betrays us."
"She won't."
A dark chuckle. “You don't understand the power of fate, my friend."
Zanlos frowned. “He's being watched. If he becomes a threat, I'll deal with him."
Alex Cross turned from the window to regard Zanlos with a thunderclap of displeasure. “Oh no. That I'll not allow. If one hair on his head is disturbed without my direct order, you'll know why the night fears me and those I represent."
Though Zanlos appeared outwardly unmoved by the warning, he took it very seriously. There weren't many who'd ever scared him in the past, and that number pared down to next to none now that he'd assumed this supernatural state. But Cross was one of them. He made Zanlos’ hair stand on end, just like the proverbial footsteps passing over his grave. Only he wasn't in the grave, and that's how he preferred for it to remain. Revenge could wait. He'd learned patience, just as he'd learned to deal with those like the casino's mysterious owner—with confidence underlaid with caution.
"What do you suggest we do about him, Alex?"
"I want him closer,” his quixotic companion said at last. “Keep your enemies closest, I always say. He makes me nervous out there. I want him in
here where it will come as no surprise when he decides to make his move."
"This is about him, then?"
A nod. But Kaz was not convinced. He knew his benefactor had his own agenda, and Kaz had no intention of letting himself or his assistant be crushed when its gears were put in motion. He'd played out that losing hand before. So he pushed for a stronger commitment.
"It's agreed then that both Miss Bright and the policeman are off limits for the time being."
"Agreed."
So why didn't Kaz believe it?
* * * *
The sound of water woke her.
She could hear the waves crashing below, angry and seething, much like the emotions pushing upon her.
Where am I?
The sensations of tearing grief and fright were so familiar they no longer had the power to surprise her. Anguish surged in a violent tide, sucking at her soul with its relentless rip and ebb. Dampness froze against her cheeks as an icy wind burned her. Defiantly, she turned into that harsh blast of air, letting it chill the hot ache of loss weighting her heart.
How could she go on knowing what lay in store for her? Knowing the misery of the years to come because she had seen them enacted through her mother's tears.
Her mother? She'd never known her mother.
Gathering her courage, she looked below. How far down it was, how bleak and cold and final that solution. But what else was there now that he was gone?
She leaned into the steady thrust of the wind, letting it support her body like the strong line of a lover's form. Her eyes slipped closed as if in bliss. For it would be bliss to escape this awful sorrow.
But the scream that jerked her back to awareness sounded of terror not liberation.
Naomi glanced about in alarm, disorientation glazing her eyes and shortening her breath. It took a panicked moment to realize she stood on the small balcony of her rented house, overlooking the little garden below. Her cotton nightgown clung coldly to her body, plastered by the spray of early morning rain that blew in from the distant mountains. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her temple throbbed in time. Nausea swelled then slowly receded as she began a fitful trembling.
What did it mean, this recurrent dream with its emotions and sensations so vivid she could scarcely believe they weren't real.
Were they real?
Was it more than a dream but rather a memory?
She took a shaky gasp as understanding struck her. With a wobbly rush, she just made it to the bathroom as sickness tore up through her middle to burn her throat and eyes. As the raw spasms finally abated, she sat back on the tiled floor and slumped upon her forearm where it draped along the edge of her tub.
If it wasn't dream, it was truth.
She'd just relived her attempted suicide.
* * * *
From his vantage point in her spearlike yucca thicket, Gabriel witnessed once again the chilling tableau played out from Naomi's past. He'd tucked himself away from view within her backyard oasis, held there by the fomenting emotions writhing through her dreams. He could feel her panic, could sense her agitation in the soft whimpers and moans she made in her restless tossings. Though he couldn't see into her private hell, couldn't personally experience the dreams that so tormented her, the friction they stirred matched the violent chafe of a lightning storm about to tear loose within her soul. He didn't need to see the images that drove her toward her grim and very final decision. They were etched against the stark white canvas of her face as she tore open the doors leading to her darkened bower. She raced to the balcony rail, not a moonstruck Juliet come to seek her lover but rather a woman pushed to the very brink of self-destruction by the demons that pursued her. His own face was wet from more than the rainfall as he suffered her anguish and her pain-wracked indecision when she paused before taking that fateful leap.
And he watched her wake as he had on countless nights before. He saw the surprise then the horror twist her expression.
His first instinct was to go to her, to wrap her in his embrace and console her with the fact that on this night, he'd been here to catch her. But would she accept that from him at this tenuous point? He didn't think so. His presence would create questions and a demand to know a truth he could not yet reveal. A truth about himself and his reason for watching over her. To rush that telling would bring ruin to all his hopes and careful plans, but seeing her in such pain of confusion was too much to bear.
How could she trust him once she knew the extent to which he'd failed her? He hadn't been there to catch her the first time. He was here standing out in her bushes because he'd failed to keep her safe when a second chance had arisen in Washington. He should have been more aggressive, more swift to act on her behalf instead of allowing his investigation of Zanlos to play out just a little bit farther in hopes of snaring him in a web of his misdeeds. Instead, he'd been the one snared, and Naomi again had suffered for his overconfidence. He'd been so careful in his court of her in her role as Zanlos’ secretary, so careful not to let his emotions get in the way of his duties. He'd held back, keeping his distance so as not to give himself away to the clever lawyer and his unknown and much more dangerous partner. There, as here, Zanlos had wreathed himself in secrets and shadows and had hidden himself behind the trusting innocence of the woman who worked for him.
Gabriel had discovered too late that Zanlos and his vicious partner had taken advantage of that cautious distance to make Naomi their thrall, to steal her free will and make her their pawn. But the scheming lawyer had underestimated the strength of Naomi's spirit. He'd been misled by her fragile appearance and gentle manner. He hadn't known a fearless and fiercely protective female resided within that delicate shell. Though Gabriel had managed to wrest her from Zanlos’ grip, she'd returned there of her own accord, driven by the noble intention of saving Gabriel and his friends from betrayal at her hands. And Gabriel had lost her. He'd been helpless to prevent a newly-made Zanlos from snatching her away. Gabriel's frantic search, aided by a tip from Rolland, had brought him to Las Vegas, where he discovered to his dismay that Zanlos had snatched away more than Naomi's freedom. He'd also stolen her memory of all that came before. Of him. What had become of the spirit she'd shown in that brave act of sacrifice? Did it still flicker within the frightened and haunted woman on the balcony above? Or had Zanlos managed to steal that as well?
He had no answer as she turned and went back inside. Only the intensity of her sadness remained, lying heavily upon his heart like the repressive blanket of humidity left behind now that the rain had passed by.
If he couldn't comfort her within his arms, he'd do the next best thing. He reached out with his mind, thinking to apply a little vampire magic, just enough to quiet her turmoil and allow her to seek rest. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft layering of calm, emotional sedative. He let his thoughts stretch toward her, opening like arms widening for a hug.
And that's when he smacked up against her defenses.
Mentally, he reeled back, stunned, surprised by the cold shield she'd erected about her own psyche that prevented him from getting close to her. He frowned in the darkness, distressed by her rejection of his comfort. Had Zanlos taught her to protect herself in such a fierce fashion? He reached out again, seeking signs of the other vampire's web of control, but there were none. He could sense Zanlos, but it was a vague residue compared to the impenetrable wall she'd placed about her thoughts.
Lest she be alarmed by his attempted intrusion, Gabriel withdrew his probe. Forced to observe her from the impersonal distance, he brooded in the night. This gift she'd acquired would keep out tampering powers. That was good. If she could shield herself from his mental inquiries, perhaps she could resist Zanlos as well. But however strong her external shell, he knew the inner crumbled with each passing moment. And would continue to disintegrate unless he could find a way to make her whole.
It was his fault.
His pride had pushed her to that pinnacle of self-destruction, but his determination and his love wo
uld keep her from going over that edge again.
He'd been given another chance. He couldn't afford to waste it. Not when more than just her life hung in the balance.
He was bartering for her immortal soul.
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Chapter Six
"Hello again."
Naomi looked up in alarm, but her startlement eased when she recognized the woman with the serving tray.
"You look awfully pale. I'm not going to have to escort you to the ladies’ room again, am I?"
"No.” Naomi managed a wan smile. “I just didn't get much sleep is all."
"Tell me about it. In this noisy place, I don't think I've managed more than forty winks myself since I got here. I've got to get out and start looking for some place quiet. Someplace away from the Strip. Someplace, you know, normal. Do you know of any place like that?"
And it came to Naomi in a flash.
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Great. I get a break right after the first show. Let's grab some coffee."
"Okay."
And Naomi began to think that maybe it would be okay. That maybe there was some degree of normal to be found in her life if she didn't have to live it with only her tangled thoughts and shadowed memories for company.
Maybe she wouldn't be so afraid if she wasn't so alone.
"You're serious? You wouldn't mind a roommate?"
"Do you snore?"
"Like a sailor.” Rita Davies grinned wide and swabbed up another gob of ketchup with her French fry. “These are terrible for you,” she pronounced before popping it into her mouth. She chewed with relish. Everything she did, she did with gusto.
Naomi knew she'd made the right choice.
"I'm a hopeless slob, but I'm a great cook. I don't have time to do anything but work, so you don't have to worry about me bringing unwanted guests home. I don't have family, so I won't be running up the phone bill.” Rita paused for a moment, looking concerned. “I do have one ongoing relationship that I hope won't be a problem."
